&&.she loves her father, perhaps more than anything else in the world, but she’s still just a little girl no matter how she boasts, and she can only take so much. when he had started pressing her hands into their old stove in fits of rage, she had conditioned herself to ignore the burn and fill the air with teary apologies, but whereas she can forgive, she can never forget, and it is by this aspect of her nature that she stands before a mortal enemy, despondent and ALONE.
( her brother is set to come home in a week, and oh god, she doesn’t want to die– )
“ … yosaf … ire. you’re yosafire. poemi– can you– help me with something ?”
Shoves tiny hipster into a puddle. That's for being an asshole about the hand, you little shit.
kinda just glares at her, top soaked through and boots coated in mud. she doesn’t even have the energy to retaliate, not anymore. saffron eyes blazing with self-righteous rage, she seethes, inquiry spoken in a sharp, high, bark.
